New year. New month. New goals. Perhaps new relationships, too. This blog article would have been more fitting last month, but a bitch has been busy-ish. And, let’s not mince words: nothing fits great these days—not even sweatpants. Is it still appropriate to blame the holidays for all the extra weight? Regardless, most of the above sounds nice, doesn’t it? However, we can’t forget that with new, well, with new anything, comes new questions. Lots of new questions. Questions like, how do you set—and keep—healthy boundaries? Come to think of it, boundary just may be the word of 2023. Or maybe . . .
Let It Go—For Real, Though!
If there’s one thing everyone can agree on, it’s that Idris Elba should consider doing a full-frontal nude scene. If there are two things we can agree on, it’s that life is hard. Finally, three things the majority of people reading this can agree on: It’s time to light a match and burn this motherfucker down to the ground. Or, to be a little more PC . . . It’s time to let shit go. Really let it go. The “it” stated above can refer to anything in your life that is not currently fulfilling you. A job, a residence, a partner, an in-law, pizza. Again, life is hard and way too short to settle . . .
Eat, Pray, Love—Then Eat Again
Back in May, I lit a match to my life. Things weren’t working out; I wasn’t happy. Change, though terrifying to consider and actually follow through with, seemed not only necessary but vital for my emotional and mental survival. As a result, I’ve been called everything from a pussy to a motherfucker to courageous for taking charge of my life and—as my cousin would say—hitting the reset button. Am I running? Am I moving forward? Who the fuck knows? Not me, not yet. Probably not any time soon, either. You see, I’ve been traveling. Ohio. New Jersey. New York City. Florida. Nashville. . . .
The “F” Word
It should come as no big surprise that my favorite “F” word is fuck. I especially like this word when it’s dressed up with motherfucker or go fuck yourself. My fascination with the “F” word began at a pretty young age. I have a distinct memory of me running around the house, four or five years old, telling anyone in my line of vision: “Don’t fuck with the babysitter.” I guess I also had a fascination with Elizabeth Shue’s character in Adventures in Babysitting. Yes, I was a handful as a child. And, as most people in my life can attest, still am a handful. However, today, we’re going . . .
Sex Sells . . . Your Self-Respect
I have a problem. Insert joke, right? Because, as we all know (those who stay up to date with my blog and column, anyway), I have more than just a problem. However, the problem I have today, the problem I’m facing this Sunday morning, is—go figure—the gay community. Last fall, I wrote an article on how disappointed I am in the gay community. Well, plot twist, the gay community is still disappointing and disheartening. Or, to be blunt, the gay community is STILL fucked. Let's have an open chat because I'm genuinely curious about something: What is the appeal of posting pictures of . . .